


Why Sherlock Will Never Buy John An Umbrella

by mageflower



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Barebacking, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, PWP, Smut, fluff at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageflower/pseuds/mageflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is horny and it is all John's fault. Now here John is, stripping out of his rain soaked clothing in their living room completely oblivious to what he is doing to the poor detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Sherlock Will Never Buy John An Umbrella

**Author's Note:**

> An RP with mageflower. She is John and I am Sherlock. I hope you enjoy.

Sherlock's skin itched. It was an itch he normally didn't scratch, he just ignored it and it went away. But now it was all he could feel. His skin felt so sensitive and he wanted someone's hands on him, to feel someone leave angry red marks of possession on his neck, to feel someone's sweat slick chest against his. He was horny and it was all John's fault. John just had to bend over to pick up his laptop and remark upon Sherlock's brilliance. He had to be the most interesting person Sherlock cared about, had to be the most adorable, sexy, infuriating man to ever catch Sherlock's eye and he wouldn't let Sherlock stop looking.

Sherlock's fingers twitched, longing for a cigarette. He had a bit of an oral fixation and an addictive personality. He loved the nicotine but also the feel of the cigarette between his lips, something to do with his hands and mouth. He hadn't been able to clean out his mind palace for days because all he could think about was pinning John to the wall and inhaling his scent, licking his way up the doctor's neck, feeling John's erection against his through their pants, hearing John gasp his name, feeling his calloused and steady hands rip open his tight dress shirts, suck John's tongue into his mouth until everything was a haze of tongue, sex, and John. But then Sherlock would feel his cock respond and the fantasy was cut short. He shouldn't think things like this about his very heterosexual flatmate. He shouldn't be giving into his body like this. He had control. But then there was that case where the victim's friend was flirting with John and Sherlock wanted to rip her hands off of him and make her cry, point out all of her flaws and make John look at him.

It was getting unbearable. Before whenever it got bad he'd find some willing man to suck his cock and be on his way. But this was John. No one else would do and he couldn't risk ruining everything. He had feelings for John, feelings he had never had before. He supposed it was love and deduced it was unrequited. It should hurt Sherlock, thinking John would never look at him the way his body craved John to, but it just made Sherlock want to convince John of his desirability more. He took to wearing tighter shirts, trousers that hugged his ass, paying more attention to John when he talked about things Sherlock didn't care about. Sherlock even went so far as to keep his deductions about Harry to himself when he met her. But now even this game of trying to get John to look at him more wasn't working.

The door to the flat opened and Sherlock was startled out of his plotting. It had been raining and John forgot his umbrella. He stood just inside the door, returning from work, his button down top clinging to his solid muscular torso, his pants hugging his ass. Sherlock bit back a moan, his body instantly responding to the vision before him, too riled up to not want to shove John against the wall and see if his tongue tasted the way he thought it would. "Do you want me to steal Mycroft's umbrella for you?" Sherlock asked, hoping the conversation would derail his erotic plans, his voice huskier than usual.

Utterly oblivious to Sherlock's state of heightened arousal, John glances at him, and shakes his head. "A bit late for that, I would think. I'm home for the day. Serves me right for forgetting my things..."

John huffs in annoyance, and begins peeling his rain-soaked jumper off, the dripping wool sticking to his damp skin and equally wet shirt.

Sherlock's eyes darkened as he watched John remove his jumper. God, he wanted to feel John's rain cooled skin, rub his hands over it, warm it up with his body, suck on the water droplets running down the side of John's neck, bite his ear to make him moan and gasp. Sherlock blinked slowly trying to clear his head of the image of John's face flushed with arousal, his eyes dark with lust imploring Sherlock to touch him and focused on John grumbling about his rain soaked clothing.

"Would you like me to make you some tea?" Sherlock asked and it came out sounding more like "Would you like me to fuck you?". Sherlock's voice was deepening due to his uncontrollable arousal, his hands rubbing his thighs, eyes watching John's movements like some sort of wild cat, predatory, intent on its prey.

Sherlock catches him by surprise with his offer of tea. That hasn't happened before, thinks John. He catches the lower notes in Sherlock's voice. As John frees himself from his jumper, he looks at Sherlock with concern. "Are you all right, Sherlock? You're not looking well." 

John begins deftly unbuttoning his sopping wet shirt. No use tracking water all over the flat, he thinks.

Sherlock's mouth went dry. John was standing shirtless in their flat, undressing himself in front of Sherlock and all he could was watch him hungrily, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. "I'm fine, John," Sherlock responded, suddenly realizing he had stood up and taken a step towards John. He is aware his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wide but all he can do is stare at John. He fingers twitch.

John looks like he doesn't believe him and when Sherlock goes to reassure him that he really is just fine, he bends over to take off his socks and shoes, turning slightly to balance against the wall and allowing Sherlock a perfect view of his ass. Sherlock's moan comes out without his permission, dousing the room is sexual tension.

John hears the unmistakably lusty sound come from Sherlock.

Well, unmistakable for those who are not John.

He freezes for a moment, finishes removing his shoes and socks, and turns around to face Sherlock. He looks at Sherlock searchingly, confusion clouding his features. "Sherlock. You're really not all right, I think. You'll be just fine, there's something going around, I must have brought it home from the surgery. Sit down, let me finish here and I'll make you some tea."

John folds his damp clothing into a neat pile to take to the laundry basket, and begins undoing the button and zip on his trousers.

"John," Sherlock forced out, sounding broken and needy. "I really am fine." He watches transfixed as John undoes his zip and slips out of his trousers. He can see everything John has to offer and approves. His deductions were correct, he muses as his eyes devour the sight of John in his boxer briefs. Fuck, John is in his boxer briefs in their flat. Sherlock unknowingly takes a step towards John, his eyes getting swallowed by his pupils. He tries to swallow but he can't. "John," he tries again but it sounds so strangled, his voice deep and thick with lust. He looks up and meets John's confused and somewhat worried gaze knowing that his face is painted with want. Even a blind man could see how much Sherlock wants John written all over his angular face.

As Sherlock comes closer, John is suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. He clears his throat and hurriedly says, "Sherlock. You're not. I'll make you tea. Can I go get dressed? It's a bit drafty in here."

Sherlock's look is entirely predatory. He steps even closer to John his eyes searching John's for disgust but only seeing nervousness and doubt. "I can assure you tea would not help. And I rather think you could do without any clothing, John," his voice is deep and seductive, curling around John. "I think we could both stand to lose some clothing. Tell me, John, does that idea appeal to you?" Sherlock was right in front of John, looking down at him, the last question laced with so much want it was tangible. Sherlock could feel the heat of John's body as it mingled with his own, waiting for the doctor's response.

As Sherlock invaded John's personal space, he was struck with a sudden clarity.

Oh. /Oh./ John Watson, you bloody /idiot./

Of /course/, you're practically naked as well.

John clears his throat again, his voice thick and a little ragged. "Sh-Sherlock."  
John looks up at his dark-haired detective, noting his blown pupils and flushed complexion. "You're wearing /entirely/ too much."

With that, John leans up and presses his lips to Sherlock's, and drops back down. "/Fix it./"

Sherlock stops breathing for a moment before hastily removing his suit jacket and undoing his belt. He rips his shirt open, buttons popping off and practically rips off his trousers, noting John's amused and lusty gaze focused upon him. Now with them both only in their pants Sherlock snags his thumb in the waistline of John's and pulls his body flush against his. He then proceeds to kiss John, to run his tongue over the seem of his lips until his mouth opens under his attentions, tasting all the corners, finding out how to make John moan. He cups John's jaw and gets impossibly closer, feeling John's cock harden against his already hard one. God, it's better than he has imagined. He moves his hips a little, rubbing them together through the thin layers of fabric, making John growl and pull Sherlock against him, returned the thrust and tangling his fingers in Sherlock's curls. Sherlock gasps into John's mouth, electrified by the feeling of John pulling his hair.

"John," Sherlock moans, rutting helplessly. "John, I want you inside me. Please."

Made breathless by Sherlock's assault on his person, John only hears "inside me", and all other thoughts leave John's mind. "Oh, God yes," he murmurs. "Your room. Now."

The two stumble into Sherlock's bedroom, mouths locked together in a clash of teeth and tongue, John's hands entwined in Sherlock's curls, Sherlock's encircled around John's waist.

John pulls away and pushes Sherlock onto the bed. "Stay there. Take off your pants. I want to see that beautiful cock of yours." John opens the top drawer to the bedside cabinet, rifling through it before he comes up with the desired object. He takes the bottle of lube and tosses it onto the bed. "Knew you'd have it. How long have you wanted this? How long have you been fantasizing about me fucking your gorgeous arse, Sherlock?" 

John gives a heated look, his face carefully composed. "Take it. Make that perfect arse ready for my cock. D'you have condoms? No, never mind that, like you want anything between your tight bottom and my cock, right? Tell me. Tell me how much you want it, Sherlock."

Sherlock hadn't imagined John would dirty talk but now that he heard those filthy phrases slip from the doctor's kiss swollen lips he wanted to hear more of it. He wanted John to tell him just exactly what he was going to do to him in his gruff commanding voice. He wanted to hear the thick note of arousal in it that he caused. John was standing at the edge of the bed, his cock erect, the tip shiny, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's form, greedily taking in the sight of the detective and Sherlock enjoyed the attention. He wanted John to look. He wanted John to take.

He grabbed the lube and slicked up his long fingers before spreading his long legs, one hand fondling his cock before tracing his hole, teasing himself, putting on a little show for John. He could feel the heat of John's gaze on him as he slipped the first finger in. It went in smoothly due to how often Sherlock had finger-fucked himself recently, imagining it was John inside him, stretching him out, giving him the pleasure that made his toes curl and his back arch. And now Sherlock had John and that thought alone caused Sherlock to moan and spread his legs a little wider, sliding in a another finger, scissoring them to make room for John's cock.

"John," Sherlock gasps, finding his prostate, setting his nerves on fire. He adds a third finger, pushing back against his own hand. "John, I have wanted you for so long. Oh God." Sherlock arches into the touch of his own hands, readying himself for John. "I lay in my bed and imagine you doing this to me. I want you, John. I need you. Please."

Sherlock's eyes squeeze shut as he continues to stretch himself. He hears the lid of the lube click and hears John applying lube. A hand stills his wrist and pulls his fingers out. The loss is momentary before he is filled with John's wider fingers, adding a little extra stretch, adding a little burn to the pleasure that has Sherlock panting already. Oh God, John's fingers are inside him. Sherlock's mind begins to lose control as John finds his prostate, caressing the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him, Sherlock eagerly moving his hips to meet John's fingers. John growls, pulling them out. "John, please," Sherlock begs, his hands clenching around John's eyes, his pupil blown eyes beseeching John's. "Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours."

John grins at Sherlock, eyes blown. "Sherlock. Don't you know? You've always been mine. From the day I walked in." He pulls his fingers from Sherlock's newly-slicked arse and positions the head of his cock at Sherlock's hot, waiting entrance. "I /will/ fuck your beautiful little arse, though." With a single smooth motion, he pushes into Sherlock, closing his eyes as Sherlock cries out and writhes under him. "Perfect, Sherlock, you're so goddamned perfect. Look at you, taking my cock, you /slut./ God--" John thrusts in and out of Sherlock, the detective's body warm and pliant. "Fuck, Sherlock! Your arse is exquisite, just fucking /incredible./" John sucks in a breath of air, and feels a faint sheen of sweat bloom on his face and back. "Talk to me, Sherlock. Tell me how much you love this." John says raggedly, dropping kisses all along the line of Sherlock's jaw, ending with a nip at his right earlobe.

Sherlock arches into John and feels the drag of John's skin against his as he thrusts into the tight heat of Sherlock's body. It is wonderful. It is everything Sherlock had been craving and more because it is John thrusting into him, it is John whispering all sorts of dirty things in his ears, it his John making him writhe and moan. Sherlock grasps at John's back and feels his muscles flexing underneath his sweaty skin, moving in time with John's cock. "Oh God," Sherlock moans, pushing back against John's thrusts, wrapping his legs around John's body, using them to pull John closer, to try and take more of him inside. He only wants to feel John, have his senses overwhelmed with John's voice, the way he growls Sherlock's name, the smell of skin, the feeling of being filled and loved by this man.

"I love the feel of you inside of me," Sherlock manages to say, his voice thick and rough, breathy in time with John's thrusts, long and deep, claiming Sherlock in a way that make's Sherlock's skin set fire and his makes him want beyond the his normal desire. "You make me need, you made me want," Sherlock groans, shifting his hips, allowing John to slide deeper and take more of him. His insides are on fire, the pleasure overwhelming and heavy, the scent of their sex heavy in the air, a heady scent. "God, I can feel you move inside me, every inch of you. You cock stretching me, filling me, making me whole." John growls and hits Sherlock's prostate and it causes Sherlock's back to arch, his mouth to fall open, his nails to dig into John's shoulders. "John!" he screams, using his legs to pull the man to tighter to his body, flushed and sensitive. "You set me on fire and I want to burn. Fuck."

Sherlock's cock is trapped between their bodies, rubbing against John as he thrusts into the detective, a delicious frictions created by their sweaty bodies, pressed flush up against each other. Suddenly Sherlock has never felt more naked or more vulnerable, realizing he is surrendering entirely to John. Every wall taken down, every emotion playing across his flushed face, his sweat black curls highlighting the creamy color of his flesh. And then it is not enough. Someone Sherlock wants John closer than he already is. Sherlock's bends himself until he can kiss John, suck the doctor's tongue into his mouth and then let himself get tongue fucked, holding onto John for support, getting lost in all the sensations. "Harder," Sherlock commands, thrusting back against John shamelessly, their breath mingling. "Make me scream."

John grabs a handful of Sherlock's hair and yanks his head back down to the bed. "No, no, you don't get to tell me what to do, love. You're mine, that means you do as /I/ say," John admonishes even as he begins to thrust harder. He buries his face in Sherlock's neck and groans, "Fuck, Sherlock, you're good, so good-- I'm getting close. Touch yourself. Come for me, love. /Now./" John ups the tempo of his thrusts yet again, getting lost in the pleasure of fucking Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock shivers as he is assaulted by the feeling of John losing control. This is what he has wanted for days and now he is high off the power of it. He wants John to fuck him so hard that he will feel him for days, he wants bruises the shape of John's fingers on his hips so he can look at them and be reminded this isn't another fantasy but it is John, taking him, owning him. Making him howl and scream. And when John hits his prostate, he howls, dragging his nails down John's back, pressing against John, his hips following John's fast and rough thrusts. The bed hits the wall and Sherlock is proud. It's him that is making John let loose, it is his body that is making John growl deliciously filthy words in his ear, his hot breath making Sherlock's eyes flutter close before snapping back open at the feel of John sliding inside of him, his body sensitive from being so close to arousal for so long. He wants it to go on forever, to have their bodies entwined, flesh slapping together, conjoined in a writhing mass of passion. But John is close and so is Sherlock.

Sherlock snakes his hand between their moving bodies, grasping his cock, using all his dirty tricks to tease himself to the edge, playing with the slit, twisting it the way he likes it. He is leaking enough he doesn't need lube to create just the right amount of slide and friction. John puts more power behind his thrusts, his eyes dark, holding Sherlock spellbound. It feels like John is fucking him with his eyes as well as his body and Sherlock keens. It is overwhelmingly brilliant in a way drugs never were and never could be. Nothing is more intoxicating than being thoroughly fucked by John Watson. It was in that moment Sherlock decided he was going to keep John. John was his now just like Sherlock was John's. Somehow John manages to slide impossibly deeper and that's it for Sherlock. He's coming, hot semen spreading between their bodies, Sherlock's ass clenching and spasming around John's erection. Sherlock is howling and screaming, his face contorted in a beautiful mask of ecstasy. It's John name of his lips as he orgasms hard enough to see stars. "John," is the mantra he yowls, letting John use his body as he chases his own orgasm. "John, please, come for me," Sherlock manages to pant, coming into the aftershocks of his pleasure.

As Sherlock comes, his arse contracts around John's cock, squeezing, and John is undone. He comes hard, his cry guttural and desperate, white-hot heat spurting from him, flooding Sherlock's arse.

John collapses onto Sherlock, his breath hot and ragged, their bodies damp and sticky with sweat, saliva and semen. John remains within Sherlock, softening a bit. He nestles his face in the crook between Sherlock's jaw and neck and breathes, "That was /fantastic/, love."

He feels Sherlock start to move, and John pins him back down, and he warns him, "No. Not done with you yet. Give us a moment and I'll make sure you never forget who you belong to."

Sherlock moans, thoroughly fucked and content, his cock already twitching at the thought of more from John. God, John is still inside him, his strong arms are wrapped around Sherlock's lithe body. It is all skin on skin contact and Sherlock feels like he is high. It is almost too much, his entire body is sensitive but he still wants more. After craving John's touch for so long getting fucked by John just one is nowhere near enough. He shifts his hips and lowers his legs, trying to prevent cramping, his movements causing John to groan into his neck, his tongue licking the sweaty skin.

"Please John," Sherlock implores, one hand stroking John's back, the other playing with John's hair. John seems to know what he wants, sucking and biting on the side of his neck. His body is hyperaware and John's mouth causes Sherlock to squirm and gasp. He loves the feeling of someone's tongue and teeth on his neck and the thought that everyone can see the marks John is leaving on him lights a fire in his belly. After a few minutes of John's attention on his neck and his hands on the doctor's body he can feel John's cock stir inside of him, hardening again and suddenly John's plan is clear. He is going to fuck Sherlock again using his own come as lube.

The idea of being used in such a way had Sherlock nipping at John's swollen lips, arching into solid, warm body above him. The air still smelled of their sex and Sherlock could taste the sweat on John's skin. Sherlock cock began to harden and Sherlock slowly began moving, trying to get both himself and John hard again so they could proceed to recreate if not improve upon the erotic events that occurred moments earlier. "Oh God, John."

John's cock comes back to full hardness, sheathed within Sherlock. He presses his body down against Sherlock's, stilling him. "Sherlock, you greedy little thing. It's not enough that I've just fucked you through the bed, you want even more?" John smiles darkly at Sherlock, and nips at his neck. He thrusts once, twice back into him, the obscene mixture of lube and John's come slicking Sherlock's hole. "You're insatiable, aren't you? You've already got an arseful of come. How much can you take, I wonder?"

John begins to thrust in earnest, reveling in the ecstatic cries bursting from Sherlock. He leans down and captures Sherlock's mouth with his own, the kiss searing hot, his tongue swirling with his lover's. John breaks away, his lips swollen and licks a stripe up Sherlock's neck. 

John nibbles at Sherlock's earlobe again, and whispers, "Sherlock. Love. Tell me what you need."

Sherlock can barely form thoughts he is so overwhelmed. Sex has never been like this before. There is always the pleasure but with John it went beyond that it. It was the need to be filled, the desire to see John come, wanting to take John in as far as he could. He made a noise in the back of his throat, thrusting down on John, the stretch still so amazing but he wanted to try a different angle, he wanted John in farther, he wanted to feel the ghost of John inside of him for days so every twinge would make him know that he could have the man he has been fantasizing about for so long.

Sherlock struggles to find the air for words and enjoys the sensual movement of John's mouth against him, enjoys feeling every ridge of John's cock. But he knows what he wants. Sherlock arches up close against John's hot body, causing the man to momentarily still his hips. "I want you to take me from behind. I want you to fuck me so hard the bed hits the wall. I want you to make me scream your name. Take me, John. Make me yours," Sherlock hisses wantonly. John suddenly jerks forward, moaning, closing his eyes, head falling to rest against the side of Sherlock's neck. "Please, John."

John doesn't need to be told twice. He pulls out of Sherlock, and flips Sherlock over easily, even with Sherlock's size advantage. He grips Sherlock's hips as if he's afraid Sherlock will simply float away if he ever lets go, and pushes back into him with ease, Sherlock still being incredibly open, slick and ready.

John doesn't waste any time, indulging Sherlock's desire for wall-slamming sex immediately. He's like a force of nature, violent and unrelenting, as the bed shakes and the headboard knocks against the wall. John moans, a deep, desperate, primal sound, and digs his fingernails into Sherlock's hips, deep enough to mark him.

Sherlock wishes he had something to hold on to but his headboard is a solid piece of wood. He grips the sheets instead, making desperate wanton noises, unable to speak under the violent assault of pleasure. John's thrusts with enough force that his balls slap Sherlock's ass. Sherlock whines and keens as John finds his spot at this new angle, his brain shutting down under the attack of all the sensations. He is so full of John, stretched and stimulated. He meets John's thrusts to the best of his ability, moving in hips back and forward searching for friction against his neglected cock, already shiny and dripping. John's fingers dig into his hips, leaving bruises that Sherlock will cherish. To be able to surrender to John, to be marked by him is something that Sherlock had never imagined actually happening.

But here he is, underneath John, getting fucked hard enough that the bed is chipping the wall, his body is just a vessel for pleasure, his oversensitive hole releasing a mixture of pleasure and pain that has Sherlock arching back into John's touch. He spread his knees a little wider, allowing John to slide just a little bit deeper and it is nirvana. Sherlock would give up solving serial murders and nicotine if John asked him to.

"John," Sherlock moans, head buried in the sheets. John seems to understand and wraps his hand around Sherlock's cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. It is rough and dirty and Sherlock is drowning in sensation. He wants more, he wants it to last forever. He can feels the come and lube sliding down the backs of his thighs, adding to the sting when John slams into his body and it makes it better. He is torn between the two dueling sensations of John's hand on his cock and John's cock in his ass. He comes suddenly, lost in the sensation, screaming and ejaculating all over the bed. John stills his thrusts. Sherlock can tell he is close by the way he is trembling but he can feel his hesitation. He doesn't want to hurt Sherlock by finishing at the pace he was going. "John, don't stop. Come inside me."

Sherlock can feel John's protest but wiggles his hips, sliding back and forth minutely on John's erection. "Use my body. I'll be fine. Please John. I want to feel you come inside me again."

John's cock twitches at the note of sheer /need/ in Sherlock's voice, and doesn't take any more to convince him. He resumes his grueling pace, taking Sherlock's arse as hard as he can, owning him like no one ever will again, because John has no intentions of letting anyone else use Sherlock like this, ever.  
John's too consumed with lust and pleasure to think about the implications of that just now.

He feels his orgasm building in his core, and as he thrusts hard into Sherlock, he comes like nothing he's ever experienced before, the edges of his vision blurring, white-sparks behind his eyes. He pulls out, and tosses himself down onto the bed next to Sherlock. John wraps his arms about Sherlock's waist, and pulls him down close to him, burying his face in Sherlock's neck, smelling his hair, made damp with sweat. Sherlock's eyes are heavy-lidded after their mutual exertions, and his breathing hard and ragged.

John speaks first. "That... was amazing, love-- I mean. Sherlock. That was extraordinary." When had he started calling Sherlock that? John knows Sherlock's no stranger to one nighters, and he assumes that this is another. Best not to get too familiar, he thinks. John ignores the painful little spark of hurt that ignites in his heart with that thought, and deliberately makes the tone of his voice as even as he can.

"It was good. Was.. that what you wanted? We'll never speak of this again, if that's what you'd like. Just a bit of fun, right?"

Sherlock tenses. "No, that is is not what I wanted. I want to eat dinner with you when I am not hungry, I want to make you tea after you have a bad day, I want to be the only one you put on your favorite jumper for, I want to be the only one that makes you lose control, and I have never wanted that from anyone before." He can feel John smile against his neck and pull him impossibly closer. "You are nothing like my one night stands, John. And I like it when you call me 'love'. Now, enough with the sentiment. I get tired after one brilliant orgasm let alone two."

Sherlock relaxes into John's body, finally understanding snuggling. He likes the feeling of John's body curving against his, the steady heartbeat against his back, the warmth in the pit of his stomach that makes him feel safe. He knows the morning will probably be awkward and they should probably clean off all the semen and lube but right now he is content to be in his lover's arms. Answering the questions that are bouncing around in John's head, Sherlock sleepily mumbles, "I prefer the term partner over boyfriend. I think it more accurately describes our relationship. And no, I am not going to get a cloth from the bathroom to clean up. Find something else if you want to."

As Sherlock answers all the questions John didn't get to ask, John feels a wave of relief wash over him, one he didn't know was even waiting, erasing that spark of hurt, replacing it with a burst of soft happiness. John gently kisses him on the cheek and answers, "So you're not just using me for my body, then?" John stifles a giggle and runs his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "Partner's good. If you don't want to clean up, have fun chipping all that off in the morning. Git."

John snuggles up closer, utterly exhausted, and completely content. There's a phrase hanging in the air, but neither of them are ready to say it, not quite yet.

For now, this is enough.


End file.
